


A New Alpha for John

by Omega Girl (Watson221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Butt Plugs, Dubious Consent, Flogging, Handcuffs, Happy Ending, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse, Omega!John, Ownership of Omegas, Underage Sex, Voyeurism, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watson221b/pseuds/Omega%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Omegas are so scarce they are often sold to wealthy Alphas, John Watson has been bought by the Holmes family for their son Mycroft. John hates his new master, and his best friend Sherlock is the only person helping him to cope.</p><p>*note* this story is underage and dubious consent. In no way do I condone either of these things in real life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to upload a new chapter each weekend. With each chapter I will be adding new tags as they become relevant, to minimize spoiling the story from my tags. This is my first attempt at writing Omega!verse, so I hope you like it!

Sherlock ran up the rickety wooden stairs to John’s room, where he found the older boy fast asleep on his cot. Sherlock went to wake him, but before he reached the bed a wave of pheromones slammed into him. Shit. Sherlock needed John to help collect bark samples, and now he’d have to wait who knows how long until John’s heat was over. 

“John! John wake up, you’re going into heat!” Sherlock ordered, shaking John’s shoulder. Because he hadn’t presented as an Alpha yet (though he would soon, as everybody knew), John’s pheromones weren’t affecting him, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t smell them. John positively reeked.

“Hm? Sherlock? What?” John mumbled as he slowly gained consciousness. 

“John, you’re going into heat, soon! I’d give you seventeen minutes before it hits full force.” Sherlock told John angrily. Of all the days of this week, it just had to be today. 

It took John a moment to realize what Sherlock was saying, but then his eyes widened in alarm. “Shit buggering fuck!” He swore. “I wasn’t expecting it until tomorrow!”

“I know you weren’t. Alright, you’d better go to Mycroft. See ya.” Sherlock twirled and stalked out of the room. 

John sighed. He could smell the pheromones on himself, but he wasn’t so deep into Heat that he felt anything more than an irritating itch. The omega in him hadn’t taken over yet, he wasn’t desperate for an Alpha’s knot yet. On the bright side, he could walk across the house to Mycroft’s bedroom without tearing off his clothes along the way. The downside was, he was still lucid enough to dread this.

He knew it was wrong, he was supposed to live to be dominated by his Alpha, but really John hated Mycroft. The man was stiff and calculating, downright cruel sometimes. And he hated that this cold man could own him so completely, take away all of his power, and John would like it, because Omegas crave submission. John hated feeling powerless, but his traitorous body craved it.

John popped a birth control pill and chased it down with some water, then began the long walk over to Mycroft’s room, to present himself for three days of fucking. 

John much preferred the months where his Heat overtook him quickly, and he was desperate to get to Mycroft and get a thick alpha cock inside of him. When he was that desperate, he forgot all about how much he hated the man, and concentrated on how much he needed the man’s body. Of course, today, John would forget his reluctance the second Mycroft plunged in, as he always did, because during sex the instincts took over completely, and Omega instincts are desperate for domination. However, just because John knew he’d give in, it didn’t make him dread it any less.

Finally John reached Mycroft’s bedroom, in a soundproofed turret of the manor. Heats could sometimes get a little noisy, and it was best for everyone if those sounds were not heard. He knocked on the heavy door, and it opened almost immediately. Had Mycroft been waiting?

“I could smell you coming,” Mycroft said, in response to John’s unasked question. “Please, do come in.”

John hesitantly entered the large room, and stood expectantly in front of Mycroft. “I think I’ll start you out handcuffed to the bed,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. 

“Anything for you, Master,” John reluctantly answered. The Alpha stepped towards John and gripped the bottom of his tshirt. John raised his arms obediently and Mycroft whipped it off. Next Mycroft grabbed John’s waistband, his hands brushing past John’s cock. 

John internally shivered, both with the revulsion that he consciously felt, and with the arousal that was creeping up on him as the Heat advanced. Mycroft tugged down John’s shorts and pants in one motion, and John stepped out of them. John was now stark naked, with the obvious exception of the black leather collar he wore with the Holmes family crest emblazoned on it in gold. All omegas wore collars, to signify who they belonged to.

Mycroft retrieved the handcuffs from a trunk in the corner and ordered John to lay down on the bed face up, arms above his head. He deftly secured John’s hands to the bed rail and propped up his head with an extra pillow, then backed off and quickly stripped off his own clothes. 

At the sight of the Alpha’s generous cock, dusty pink in its half-hard state, the Omega in John got excited. He could feel his arsehole growing wet, creating a small puddle on the bed underneath him. During Heat, the Omega’s body was designed to require as little preparation as possible, so that the insatiable need for penetration could be filled without delay. Not only did John’s body self-lubricate, it also loosened up a bit, though not much.

The parts of John that weren’t awaiting Mycroft as eagerly shuddered internally, dreading the moment when his loathsome owner would take ownership of his body. He was resigned to his fate though, and had suffered through countless times before. 

Mycroft climbed onto the bed, never breaking eye contact with John. He positioned himself in between John’s legs, then stuffed two pillows under John’s hips, to improve the angle. He gripped John’s side, and deliberately slid in.

John’s hole was not loose enough that it could easily accommodate an Alpha penetrating fully with no preparation at all, and at first John was overcome by the splitting pain. Within seconds though, John Watson was lost to the very recesses of his mind as base instinct took over. His Heat may have still been far enough away that he wasn’t begging, but the second the Omega recognized that there was an Alpha buried hilt deep inside of him, primitive lust took over. 

The Omega’s legs wound around Mycroft’s waist, pushing him further in. He eagerly thrust against Mycroft, moaning softly. “Harder, Master! Deeper!”

Mycroft leaned onto all fours and pounded into John with vigor. The pheromones that John was sending out made Mycroft lose his mind in lust. Just as an Omega in heat will beg for sex from any Alpha they can find, when confronted with the scent of an Omega in heat, Alphas lose all willpower and rational thought, and become just as sex driven as the Omega.

“My Omega,” Mycroft muttered as he slammed against John. “All mine.” Mycroft leaned down and sunk his teeth onto the Omega’s left nipple. John arched into the touch and groaned.

“Yes Master, all yours Master” John panted, barely aware that he was speaking. Mycroft clamped his hand over John’s right nipple and groped him roughly, as he sucked on John’s left. John moaned at each movement, his arms straining at their cuffs, desperate to bury his fingers in Mycroft’s hair. 

Mycroft moved his right arm up to grip at John’s collar as his left hand still supported him on the bed. He lay his head down in the middle of John’s pale chest and closed his eyes, losing himself in the rhythmic pounding of John’s head against the backboard as Mycroft thrust into into him. 

John’s legs were still gripped around Mycroft, and he slammed back against the Alpha faster and faster, forcing them to speed up the pace. John could feel Mycroft’s knot beginning to swell inside of him, filling him so completely and beautifully as only an Alpha’s knot could. It stretched John beyond all limits then kept growing, the pain and pleasure both so sharp they overcame him, and John spiralled into oblivion, intense waves crashing over him as his vision momentarily blacked out. He spurted all over Mycroft’s stomach above him.

Mycroft raised his head and drank in the sight of his Omega so undone beneath him, all because of his own knot, which caused Mycroft to lose what tenuous grip he’d had on reality. His knot pulsed, expelling wave after wave of ejaculation. 

As John’s reality reassembled around him and vision returned, he could feel the rings of muscle in him gripping at Mycroft’s knot, milking every bit of semen out of him. The spurts were beginning to slow, but John knew from experience they would continue for about another half hour until stopping completely. Only then would the knot deflate enough for Mycroft to pull out. Then the two of them would be at it again, and again, until days later when John’s heat finally ended. 

Mycroft collapsed on top of John, supporting his weight with his elbows. He still buried hilt deep inside of John, and every couple of minutes he would thrust into the omega as another wave of orgasm overcame him. Each time, John would grunt harshly, as the force thrust his whole body up, causing his head to slam into the headboard. 

Though Mycroft was still in the throes of orgasm, John’s was over, and he was quite tender even as Mycroft’s excruciating knot stayed stubbornly inside him. John sighed. He always hated this part of Heat.


	2. Two

Sometimes Sherlock hated his older brother. Well he always hated his older brother. But right now he was hating him for a specific reason, and that reason was John. Sherlock needed him desperately to help with his experiment, but instead John was locked in Mycroft’s room and wouldn’t be out for three days, at the very least. 

Technically, John belonged to the Holmes family in general, not just Mycroft. So why did Mycroft get John whenever he wanted him? It wasn’t fair! Sherlock needed John, and Sherlock was the one who used John most often, so really he owned him more than Mycroft did! But because Mycroft used him for his “Alpha needs” and Sherlock only used him to help with experiments, Mycroft’s needs came first. What a load of bullshit.

Sherlock couldn’t wait until he officially Presented, and could start using John for his own Alpha needs. Then Mycroft’d see what it’s like to need John and not be able to have him! 

Sadly, Mycroft hadn’t Presented until he was sixteen, and Sherlock was only fourteen now, so Sherlock probably had a long time to wait until he could content for John. Although, Presenting at fourteen was still entirely possible, and not uncommon. Maybe Sherlock’d be lucky.

Hmm, Sherlock had been meaning to test the effects of various blood samples on daffodils, and the neighbors had just planted a new garden, maybe that’s what he’d do until John was free.

***

John slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but if previous experience was any example, it had probably been around twelve hours. He was starving. When was the last time he’d eaten? Wednesday? Or Thursday? He was always muddled after his Heats were over, it took awhile to come back to reality after several days of desperate fucking.

John sat up carefully, wincing as he realized how sore he was. Every inch of him was in pain, from his pounding headache to his trembling arms to his arse that was on fire. It happened every time, but somehow he was never quite prepared for just how sore he was. He lay back down slowly, and decided that starving or no, it wasn’t worth the movement to venture down to the kitchen for food. 

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and Sherlock poked his head in. “Hey, John,” he said, “I saw Mycroft downstairs so I figured he was done with you. I brought you some food.” Sherlock bounced onto the bed next to John, not noticing John’s wince as the jostling hurt his battered body. Sherlock handed him a roast beef sandwich, and lay a second sandwich and a large glass of water on the nightstand.

“Thanks Sherlock,” John croaked. Wow, his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat then continued. “Um, what day is it?” He asked Sherlock. 

“Monday night,” Sherlock replied. “You’ve been up here since Thursday afternoon, and it’s been so boring!”

“Sorry, mate. Couldn’t really help it.” John smiled apologetically. 

“Hmph. Anyways, you’re free now, and I need you to help me collect data on the the adhesivity of saliva.”

Oh god. The thought of running around at that moment was torture to John. “Look, Sherlock, I’m a bit, erm, sore, at the moment. Can you just give me a little bit of time to rest?” John asked.

Sherlock sighed dramatically at the inconvenience. “Fine, I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. But you’ll need to leave Mycroft’s room before he gets back, you know he doesn’t like having you here when you’re not being useful.”

John winced at the thought of having to trek all the way back to his teeny attic room in the servants’ quarters. It was just about the furthest room possible from here, and John’s body was much too sore.

Sherlock realized John’s reluctance, and offered to let John rest in his room for a bit, since it was much closer than John’s. John smiled gratefully, and let Sherlock help him out of bed.

Going down the short flight of stairs was especially painful on John’s tender arse, but he leant heavily on Sherlock and together they managed. From the bottom of the stairs, they only had to walk down one hallway, turn left down another, and then they made it. Sherlock opened his door, which had a loud “Do Not Disturb” sign nailed to it, and led John into the room and onto his bed. 

“I’ll go get that sandwich and water from Mycroft’s room, you must still be hungry. Be right back!” Sherlock disappeared out the door, leaving John sitting in an unfamiliar bed, Sherlock’s bed, in an unfamiliar room, Sherlock’s room. For all the time that the two of them spent together, John had never seen the inside of this room before. The two of them spent most of their time running around outside, or in the old shed Sherlock had converted into a lab. 

Sherlock’s room was just as John had expected it, an embodiment of Sherlock’s personality. The floor was strewn with heaps of clothing and stacks of paper and heavy-duty forensic textbooks. Hanging on the wall was a large poster of the periodic table. Besides the double bed with plum-colored sheets, the only other furniture was a wooden wardrobe that had papers taped to it, covering most surfaces, and a large desk that was surprisingly organised, considering the state of the rest of the room. There was a pile of books on one side of it, a collection of rocks lining the back, and a picture in a white frame. 

It was from Sherlock’s birthday two years ago, and Mrs. Holmes had tried to get a picture of Sherlock posing with his cake. John remembered the moment with clarity. Sherlock had, or course, completely ignored all attempts at getting his picture, and he carried on talking to John as if the camera wasn’t there. Mrs. Holmes flashed away anyways, and in this picture, Sherlock had just made a joke about how it had probably been Mycroft’s idea to force a cake on Sherlock, just to have an excuse to eat all the leftovers.

The camera had captured John with his head thrown back in laughter, and Sherlock was looking at John and smiling. Whenever John laughed at one of Sherlock’s jokes, he always seemed mildly surprised and grateful, probably because no one else ever thought he was funny. It was a sweet picture.

Propped up against the frame was a brown feather, and John had a moment of confusion seeing it there before he remembered what it was from. It was from about a year ago. The two of them were by the pond, and Sherlock was studying animal prints in the mud. John got bored and wandered off, and he found a brown feather lying in the grass. Thinking it’d be funny, he ran back to Sherlock and stuck the feather in his dark curls. 

Sherlock was so immersed in his work that he didn’t even notice. Half an hour later, when they were walking back to the house, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and found the feather, then ran after John trying to stick it in his hair. The two of them chased each other back and forth, laughing, until Mycroft called for John and he had to go.

John had almost forgotten about that day, and he’d had no idea that Sherlock kept that feather all this time. It was actually really sweet. 

Just then, Sherlock came back with the sandwich and water. He placed them on the nightstand, and handed John two little red pills. 

“Here, these should help with the pain,” Sherlock offered, handing John the glass of water. John took the pills and thanked Sherlock, before chowing down on the sandwich. Sherlock turned and grabbed a book off his desk and handed it to John. 

“In case you get bored,” he explained. John’s mouth was full of sandwich, so he just nodded to Sherlock in thanks.

“Alright, well, I’ll just leave you alone then,” Sherlock said, turning to leave.

“Wait!” John called out, trying to talk around the food in his mouth. “You can stay, I mean if you want. This is your room after all.”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked dubiously.

“Sure. Besides, I could use the company.” John patted the bed next to him, inviting Sherlock up. Sherlock grabbed a chemistry book from the floor and climbed up, then settled next to John and began to read. John opened up the book Sherlock had offered him, and the two read in companionable silence until John heard soft snores coming from next to him. John picked the book off Sherlock’s chest and bookmarked it, then set it aside. He pulled up the covers around Sherlock and smiled as Sherlock mumbled in his sleep.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not much happens in this one. It is here for some background info on John's situation. Don't worry, the action will pick back up next chapter!

Rationally, John knew he had a pretty good life for an Omega. Omegas are the rarest sex by far, and therefore prized among Alphas. Only one out of 500 people are Omegas, compared to Alphas (one in twenty) and Betas (The majority of the population). What makes Omegas so special is that they can only be males, unlike Alphas and Betas who can be either male or female. Omegas are able to give birth, and in fact they are incredibly fertile. Mature Omegas go into Heat for 3-4 days every other month, and it is when their fertility is the highest. Instinctually, they lose all rational function during those days, and will do anything to secure an Alpha mate.

Before the Omega Protection Decrees in 1942, cases of strangers mating on the streets, and break-ins, were all too common when an Omega was in Heat. While in Heat, Omegas secrete pheromones that are irresistible to Alphas, and they become just as mindless and sex-crazed as Omegas. Every Alpha dreams of someday mating with an Omega in Heat, but few ever get the chance. Because of Omegas’ rarity and value to Alphas, by law all Omegas must Bond with an Alpha by the age of 21. 

Because of this law, and Alpha competition for Omegas, it became customary to purchase Omegas. Due to the competition, only the very wealthiest of Alphas could afford Omegas, who were typically sold as babies. Though externally, Omegas are very similar to Alpha and Beta males, and don’t Present as Omegas until their first Heat around age twelve, new technologies have been invented that can identify the sex of a baby as soon as its born.

Though most Omegas are sold as babies, they aren’t put into service until their Heats begin. Childhood is spent teaching the Omega its place in society, and grooming certain behaviors that will satisfy their future Alpha. John was lucky, because his family did not choose to find out his sex prematurely, so John grew up with his family and attended school, until he underwent his first heat at age twelve. 

Over the next couple of weeks, John was put up for sale on several respectable Omega dealing websites, and he attended a few showcases for prospective Alpha buyers. Within a month, the wealthy Holmes family had bought him as a birthday present for their 16 year old Alpha son, Mycroft. So, John packed up a suitcase and said goodbye to his parents and younger sister forever. He belonged to the Holmes now, and would never see his old family again.

For the past three years, John had lived with relative freedom at the manor. Obviously he had to serve Mycroft whenever he was needed, but on the days when Mycroft didn’t want him, he was free to do as he pleased. This usually meant running around with Sherlock, who was a year younger than John, helping him conduct experiments and terrorize the neighbors. John even got to eat at the table with the Holmes family except during formal dinner parties, when John was expected to sit at Mycroft’s feet wearing a leash, as was expected of claimed Omegas. 

All in all, John knew that for an Omega, he had a pretty good life. He had relative freedom, he had a friend in Sherlock, and he wouldn’t be expected to have children for several more years. The one downside was that John despised Mycroft, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Watching other Alpha-Omega pairs, John knew that most Alphas doted on their omegas, coddling them and spoiling them even as they expected total submission from them. Mycroft maintained a polite distance from John, and never spoke to him unless absolutely necessary. He barely acknowledged John’s presence outside of the bedroom, let alone coddled him. 

Though Mycroft had mated with John on countless occasions, the two were not bonded. Bonding only occurs if the Omega is impregnated by the Alpha while in Heat, and Mycroft was very careful about making sure John kept up-to-date with his birth control pills. 

Still, John couldn’t help but wonder about his future. He knew that inevitably, and probably sooner than later, Mycroft would move out of the Holmes manor and buy his own house. John would be all alone there, with no Sherlock to keep him company. And eventually, Mycroft would marry a Beta woman, as was expected of men of his station. It would be a strategic marriage rather than for love, but nonetheless it would happen. Then John would probably be lonelier than ever, as spouses were usually jealous of their Alpha’s pet Omegas, for giving them sexual satisfaction in a way Betas never could. John would gradually be relegated to nanny and occasional sex toy, only shown off during parties. It was not a fate John was looking forward to at all.

Hopefully, that was still a long ways off, and John still had a couple more years to enjoy with Sherlock at the manor. He really should enjoy it while it lasted, and not speculate on the future. John sighed, looking lovingly at Sherlock’s sleeping form next to him. He turned off the light and sank into a deep sleep.


	4. Four

John’s soreness faded within a few days, as it always did, and the next few weeks continued as normal. During the day, John would help Sherlock with his wild escapades, and at night he’d either return to his cold room in the servants’ quarters or spend the night being fucked by Mycroft. 

One evening, while the family was eating dinner, and both Mr. Holmes and Mycroft were both present for once (their work kept them busy), Mycroft cleared his throat loudly. 

“Everyone, I have some very good news I would like to share,” He announced pompously.

“Oh? Do tell, Mike.” Mrs. Holmes asked eagerly.

Sherlock sighed loudly. “It’s obvious isn’t it? Mycroft has been promoted within the government, and they need him closer to the city for convenience. So he’ll be moving away in one month? No, two. He still needs to find an appropriate flat, but the search is underway. Really Mycroft, its not such big news, you’ve been close to this promotion for months now.” Sherlock said it all in one breath, and when he finished Mrs. Holmes glared at him disapprovingly. 

“Sherlock!” She admonished him. “That was Mycroft’s news to share, not yours. And it is very big news, and we are all proud of him. Aren’t we, Siger?” She looked to Mr. Holmes sternly, and he nodded once. Mr. Holmes was not a man of many words.

“Thank you, Mummy.” Mycroft said, his eyes shooting daggers at Sherlock, who was unperturbed by all the glares. 

John was alarmed. Mycroft was moving out already? He was barely twenty! Sure, he’d finished university two years ago, but surely a twenty-year-old couldn’t be so vital to the government that they needed him available at a moment’s notice?

John had thought he’d have a few years at least, to enjoy the easy life at the Holmes manor. He wasn’t ready to leave his comfort, leave Sherlock!

Mycroft saw John’s poorly hidden alarm at a glance. “Also, I have been offered an Omega as a political gift from Sudan. Obviously, it would be in unwise to refuse such a gift, so the new Omega will live with me in London. This of course means I have no need for John anymore.” 

John was panicked. What? Mycroft didn’t need him? What did this mean? Where would he go? Nobody wanted to buy a used Omega, what would become of him? 

Mycroft continued, ignoring John’s alarm. “However, because it would be difficult to sell a used Omega, and since Sherlock will be Presenting soon, I thought we could keep him and he can become Sherlock’s Omega.” John was in shock. There was no way this was happening.

Mrs. Holmes hummed. “I suppose that could work,” She said thoughtfully. “It would be such a hassle to buy a new Omega for Sherlock, and the two already know each other. What do you think, Siger dear?”

Mr. Holmes nodded slowly. “Suits me” He said. He turned back to his food and resumed eating, signaling that the conversation was over. Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft returned to their food as well, as if nothing had just happened, as if John’s entire life hadn’t just turned upside down. He looked to Sherlock, who was studying his food intently. If John wasn’t mistaken, Sherlock was blushing a little bit. Sherlock glanced up from his plate at John, and caught John staring. Sherlock quickly averted his eyes and returned to examining his chicken. John thought he could detect the hint of a smile. 

John felt like smiling himself. In fact, he felt like running up and down the halls shouting. No more Mycroft! No more Mycroft! Even if Sherlock was demanding and petulant, he was a giant step up from Mycroft, whose stares were judging and his voice patronizing on the best of days. 

Of course, John would still have to deal with Mycroft for a little while. Mycroft wasn’t moving for two months, and his Sudanese Omega wouldn’t arrive until then. But John would gladly endure it, knowing it would be the last two months he’d spend as Mycroft’s fucktoy.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry, this chapter is really short. But don't worry, next chapter will be both long and naughty ;) enjoy!

Almost three weeks went by before Mycroft sent for John. He never went and found John himself, he always sent either Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper. This time it was Mrs. Hudson. She was a grandmotherly-type Beta, who had a fondness for the young Omega. She had a grandson who lived far away, and apparently was far too skinny. Because she couldn’t do anything about his eating habits, she took to heaping food onto John’s plate. Especially before he went to see Mycroft, she would always force overly generous portions on him.

This time, she knocked on his bedroom door softly. “John, are you in there?” She called out.

John sighed and put down the book he was reading. “Come in, Mrs. Hudson,” he replied.

She opened the creaky door and walked in, setting a heaping plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and broccoli down on the desk. The chunky gravy heaped on the potatoes clued John in to her true purpose in bringing him food. The Holmes’ were too fancy a family to allow their gravy to have chunks, but that was the way John preferred it. The only possible reason the cook would have agreed to make it would be if Mycroft had sent for John. Though he had never mentioned his hatred of Mycroft to Mrs. Hudson, she had a motherly intuition, and was always sympathetic. It wasn’t unusual for her to bring him a special treat before she broke the news to him. Sure enough--

“Mycroft would like to see you, dear” Mrs. Hudson said, giving John a sad smile. 

“What time should I head over?” was John’s only response. This was the first Saturday night Mycroft hadn’t been at work in several weeks. John had seen it coming.

“Just as soon as you finish eating. And I mean finish, I want this plate clean when I come back,” Mrs. Hudson said with a stern look at John. “You’re still a growing boy, you need some good hearty nourishment.”

“Okay, Mrs. Hudson. I promise” John agreed with a grin. Every time she made him promise to clean his plate, and every time he followed through with pleasure. One thing he could never begrudge about living here was the food. John pushed himself out of bed, carefully bookmarking his place in the novel. He was almost at the end, and had been looking forward to finishing it that night. Ah well. He could always wait til tomorrow night to find out whether the main character survived.

John sat down in front of his plate and started cutting into his chicken. The gravy really was delicious. Once Mrs. Hudson was satisfied that he was eating, she patted his shoulder and left the room.

***

John knocked twice on Mycroft’s door, but when it finally opened, the wrong person was standing behind it.

“Um, Sherlock? What are you doing here?” John asked, bewildered.

Sherlock stared at the wall behind John’s head. “Um, Mycroft wants me to... watch. He said he has to teach me how to, um, handle handle things, and since he’ll be leaving soon…” Sherlock trailed off, still refusing to look John in the eye.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sherlock answered apologetically.

Just then, the door pulled open wider, revealing Mycroft’s intimidating form. “John, hello. I trust Sherlock has informed you that we will be giving him lessons this evening?” 

“Uh, yes he, um, he has,” John stuttered, still unable to comprehend the situation. 

“Well, come in then.” Mycroft stepped back from the doorway, allowing John to enter. “John, I expect you would like an explanation of how this session will proceed. First, you and I will have sex, while Sherlock observes. Then at a later date, you and Sherlock will engage, while I observe and intervene or assist if necessary. This way, Sherlock can learn properly how to lead a session with an Omega, as Omegas are vastly different from Betas in the bedroom, and require special care. Extra domination, for example.” Mycroft explained it all in a clinical tone, as if what he was saying didn’t cause the other occupants of the room to squirm in discomfort. “Sherlock, I would like you to go sit on that chair, where you will have the best vantage point.” 

Obediently, Sherlock went over to a brown armchair on the opposite side of the room, facing the bed. It hadn’t been there last time. He sat down stiffly. 

Mycroft turned to John, completely shutting out Sherlock’s presence. “Strip.” He commanded with a voice of steel. “Then kneel on the bed, facing the headboard.”


	6. Six

John removed his shirt and trousers, and after a hesitant glance at Sherlock across the room, he pulled down his pants as well. John looked to Sherlock again, but Sherlock wasn’t paying his naked body any attention. He was watching Mycroft, who had gone over to his wardrobe and was digging something out of a box in the corner. 

John climbed onto the king-size bed and knelt just in front of the pillows, facing the headboard. He folded his hands in front of him and stared straight ahead, refusing to think about Sherlock. 

Mycroft returned from the wardrobe and set what he had retrieved on the nightstand. There was a pair of handcuffs, a ball gag, a leather whip, a butt plug, and a bottle of lube. Mycroft picked up the metal cuffs and secured John’s wrists to a vertical railing in the headboard. John could slide his hands up and down the rail, but couldn’t pull them free. 

Mycroft unfastened his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, then unbuttoned his top three buttons. He didn’t remove any clothing. He climbed onto the bed behind John and squirted some lube into his hand. He massaged it all over his fingers, then with no warning he plunged his first icy digit into John’s entrance.

It was abrupt and shockingly cold, and John’s spine ran rigid with the movement. Mycroft always dove right in; he never wasted any time with sensual foreplay. And forget kissing, Mycroft had never kissed John in his life, except in half-bites on his body when John was in Heat. No, Mycroft would never let John think, even for a second, that there were any emotions involved in this relationship. For Mycroft, this was purely need-driven. He needed to satisfy his desires, and he needed to dominate someone. And what better to use as a submissive sex toy than an Omega?

As soon as Mycroft started moving his finger inside of John, all trains of thought were forgotten. John may not have been in Heat, but the sex-driven Omega inside of him was always hovering just below the surface. And oh, that finger felt so good. 

“When Omegas are not in heat, it is important to prepare them. They need to be loosened before they can handle an Alpha’s girth.” Mycroft explained. At first, John was confused at why he was narrating, until he remembered that Sherlock was supposed to be observing. 

Mycroft slid his finger in and out of John, adding a second and then a third. He moved in and out, giving a sharp twist of his wrist with every thrust in. After a few times, John let out a sharp moan, letting Mycroft know he’d found his prostate. He continued in that pattern for several minutes, thrusting his fingers and hitting John’s prostate every time. John was pushing down on the fingers, begging for more. 

But Mycroft wouldn’t give it to him. He stilled his fingers, knuckle deep in John’s entrance, and watched John fuck himself on them, desperate for contact. Despite John’s desperate groans, Mycroft slowly withdrew his fingers. He picked up the butt plug and stuffed it in John, holding him open for when Mycroft would need it later. John whimpered, because while the plug filled him up deliciously, it stubbornly stayed quite still inside of John. 

“Shhh, shhh” Mycroft crooned, reaching under John to give his straining cock two hard pulls. John groaned loudly and tried to thrust into Mycroft’s hand, but it had already withdrawn. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Mycroft admonished his Omega. He grabbed the ball gag and stuffed in John’s mouth, securing the straps around the back of John’s head. The gag stifled his cries significantly, but could not silence them. 

“Omegas like to be dominated, it’s in their nature. That’s why I taunt them without giving them release, and of course any form of restraint is useful. Especially when they are disobeying their masters, and not being quiet like they were ordered.” Mycroft dictated for Sherlock’s benefit. Oh god, John had almost managed to forget Sherlock was watching. It was completely humiliating, having his best friend of three years watch him be stripped down and fucked by Sherlock’s older brother. There was a part of him though, that John was trying hard to ignore, that welcomed Sherlock’s eyes on him. Letting Sherlock see him exposed and aroused. Pretending his moans and gasps were elicited by his friend’s actions rather than his master’s. 

John’s attentions were drawn back to Mycroft as he watched him take hold of the flogger. He ran the tassels through his fingers admiringly, then lashed out and whipped John across the back. John shrieked and tugged against his restraints, but they would not give. Mycroft gripped John’s shoulder and forced him to bend over, exposing his back to Mycroft. 

“Pain is both pleasurable to administer, and welcomed by Omegas. Now count,” Mycroft growled. It took John to realize that the last part was meant as a command for him. Mycroft raised the flogger and hit him again.

“Two!” John mumbled around the gag, his words unintelligible.

John squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the next blow. It snapped down across his right buttcheek, shooting spikes of pain up his backside, and overwhelming daggers of pleasure down to his groin.

John kept up his count, though with each number it grew increasingly more difficult to formulate words. His brain was becoming fuzzy around the edges, diving deep into the sensations. As the flogger landed on John again and again, the pleasure grew until the stinging from each tassel was engulfed by the sharp hot pleasure that stemmed from each blow. By ten, John was completely incoherent, and could only manage an intelligible whimper after each flog. Mycroft stopped then, despite John’s protests. 

“I don’t want to permanently damage you,” explained Mycroft as he put the flogger aside. “Besides, we have plenty else we can do.”

Mycroft reached under John, stroking his hard cock. Precum was liberally leaking down the sides, and Mycroft swept it up with his finger then luxuriously licked it off. John whined, bucking his hips against the air. Mycroft chuckled darkly at John’s begging. 

“Oh, do you want my cock you dirty Omega? Is your arse just aching for me to fill you up and ride you hard? Is that what you want?” John nodded emphatically, moaning around his gag.

Mycroft unzipped his trousers and pulled them down around his knees, his pants following. He rutted against John a few times, and John leant into the sensation of the hard cock against his backside. Mycroft squirted more lube into his hands, then ran them up and down his own cock, sighing contentedly. Once he was liberally coated, he slid out John’s butt plug. He gripped John’s hip with one hand and used the other to position himself at John’s entrance. He held on to John’s hips, and pushed himself in to the hilt. 

John yelped at the sudden intrusion, but Mycroft didn’t give him time to adjust. He pulled out so that just the head was still in, then he slid back into John. Gradually, he quickened the pace and thrust deeper, until every thrust shook the bed. John gripped the railing he was cuffed to, to steady himself against the onslaught. Mycroft quickly found John’s prostate, and soon their grunts were in unison with every rut. John pushed himself deeper onto Mycroft, his muscles clenching around the thick cock buried deep in him.

When Mycroft’s thrusts became irregular and desperate, John could tell he was close. He felt a shiver run through Mycroft’s body, and with a shout he came in John, thrusting erratically as each wave rolled over him.

As John felt Mycroft’s semen spurting into him, filling him up, it was enough to tip him over the edge. John cried ou as he exploded all over the bedsheets below him, getting some on his stomach. 

When both of them had calmed and returned to awareness, Mycroft carefully pulled out, and flopped onto the bed, panting. He leant over and unclasped John’s handcuffs, allowing the Omega to collapse flat, paying no heed to the sticky mess of his own ejaculate that he was now laying on top of. 

“Omegas like it rough, which is good because it would be hard to restrain yourself with such delicious pheromones tempting you.” Mycroft’s voice was steady despite the fact that he’d been completely out of breath only a second ago. Throughout all of Mycroft’s explanations, Sherlock hadn’t made a sound.

John chanced a look over at him, in his chair across the room. Sherlock was staring at John, absorbing every inch of his naked body spread out for the world to see. He drank in the sight of John’s now flaccid cock, and let his eyes travel up to John’s face. The two locked eyes, and Sherlock’s expression froze. He quickly averted his eyes, and pretended he wasn’t blushing furiously. John was sure his face was as red as Sherlock’s.

After a few minutes, Mycroft sat up and examined John critically. “Sherlock, I think it would be best if we let John’s injuries heal for a day or so before I let you try. No one wants a broken Omega.” Sherlock must have nodded, because Mycroft dropped the matter. He pulled up his trousers, redid his belt, and walked out of the room.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I wasn't able to update last week, I was on vacation and found myself unexpectedly without computer access.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Sherlock cautiously got up and went over to John. John moved a hand over his groin, but it didn’t help with how exposed he felt. Neither of them could look the other in the eye. 

“Are you okay?” Sherlock blurted. “It’s just, the marks on your back look really bad, do you want help bandaging them?” Sherlock risked glancing at John.

John was relieved. He’d feared Sherlock would want to talk about what had just happened, and John was in no way ready for that. Nor would he ever be. “Thanks,” John said in response to the offer. He attempted a smile, but it came out more of a grimace. He made to sit up, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his chest. He quickly withdrew, after realizing he had his palm flat on John’s bare chest.

“No, you lie down. I’ll go get the supplies.” Sherlock explained. He practically ran out of the room.

Oh god, oh god, why is this happening to me? John bemoaned. It was bad enough having Sherlock watch him have sex with his older brother, now Sherlock was going to help him and coddle him afterwards. While John was naked. Well, at least something could be done about that. 

Quickly realizing that moving was not an idea that his battered body was looking forward to, John simply rolled over in bed so that he was lying on his stomach. He awkwardly reached around and draped the corner of the blanket over his legs, covering his arse. 

Just as John finished getting situated, Sherlock burst in with a box of medical supplies. He perched on the bed next to John and took out a small tube. He uncapped it and spread the cream on John’s back, apologizing every time John winced at the stinging. 

“These marks actually aren’t as bad as I first thought,” Sherlock conceded. “They barely drew blood, and I’m confident they’ll be totally gone in two weeks.” Sherlock took out a small stack of bandages and stuck them onto John’s back, covering the worst of the wounds.

“Thanks for doing this, Sherlock.” John said, smiling up at him.

Sherlock shrugged instead of making a real response. “Mycroft will probably be back soon, do you want to stay in my room again?”

Great. First John has to lie down and let Sherlock bandage him up, now John’s too weak to even make it all the way across the house to his own bed. It was true though. John wasn’t sure he could handle the long trek back to his room. “Okay,” John agreed. He swallowed the remnants of his pride and allowed Sherlock to help him out of bed and down the stairs, and into Sherlock’s room. John was very conscious of the fact that he was still completely naked. He slid under the covers as quickly as possible, wincing at every sharp movement of his back. And arse. And wrists.

Sherlock seemed to notice what John was thinking, so he retrieved a pair of pyjama bottoms from his drawer and handed them to John, who gratefully slid them on under the blanket. Sherlock then pulled on his own pyjamas, and though he had his back turned to John, John still blushed at seeing Sherlock’s exposed back and legs. Of course, the reaction was only a result from all of the uncomfortable things that had happened last night. It had absolutely nothing to do with how muscular his back was, which John had never noticed, and how, erm, pleasant his arse looked in those red pants. John averted his eyes and stared determinedly at the ceiling, willing himself to rid those images from his mind. 

After turning off the light, Sherlock climbed into bed next to John, and was asleep almost instantly. John lay awake for awhile. His brain just couldn’t turn off after the events of this evening. Not only had Mycroft summoned him, they had sex while Sherlock was watching, with instructions for Sherlock to fuck him next time, and on top of all that, Sherlock bandaged him up and took him back to his own bedroom, so John wouldn’t have to limp back to his own room alone. 

And hardest of all for John to comprehend was that this was Sherlock who did all this. Sherlock, who had alienated everybody within a five mile radius for his scathing remarks and rude behavior. Sherlock, who did whatever he wanted with no care for social protocol. Sherlock, who never considered anyone other than himself, under any circumstance. Sherlock, who hadn’t gotten bored of John tagging along, in all the years John had lived here. Sherlock, whose only photo on display was of him and John. Sherlock, who took care of him after sessions with Mycroft even though it was in no way his responsibility. 

John looked over at Sherlock’s sleeping form, realizing for the first time that maybe Sherlock did care about him more than he let on. John allowed a small smile to creep onto his lips, and cautiously he brushed Sherlock’s shoulder with his fingertips.

Sherlock groaned in his sleep, turning over and throwing his arm across John’s torso. He nuzzled his head into John’s chest and sighed, then his breathing returned to normal. 

John froze. “Sherlock, are you awake?” He whispered, but Sherlock gave no response. After a few seconds, John relaxed. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and closed his eyes, finally letting himself drift off.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'll be able to update next week, I'll be away. But don't worry, I'll be back the next week! And to tide you over, this chapter is longer than usual :)

When John woke up the next morning, Sherlock was gone. Light streamed through the windows, and a plate of french toast lay on the table next to him, with his daily birth control pill sitting on a napkin. That had probably been courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. John checked the clock and groaned. It was already almost noon! He sat up carefully, mindful of the wounds on his back. He gobbled up his breakfast and popped his pill, then headed back to his own room to finish his book.

Stairs still weren’t fun for John’s battered body, but sleep really had done wonders for healing. The redness in his wrists from chafing at the handcuffs had disappeared, and his back and arse weren’t in nearly as much pain as they had been in yesterday. However, he’d probably worsen again soon, since John was all too aware that tomorrow Sherlock would have his chance with him. 

He tried to shove the thought away, but it simply wouldn’t be ignored. John’s heart clenched at the thought; he’d never been with anyone but Mycroft and he had no idea what to expect. Plus, this was Sherlock, his best friend of the past three years! John was capable of making the situation impersonal when he was with Mycroft, but he had no idea if he’d still be able to when the person fucking him into the headboard was his sole confidant, the person he loved-- erm, liked-- most of all in the world. 

The rest of the day passed painfully slowly. At some point, Mrs. Hudson came up and brought him a heaping plate of grilled cheese, carrots, and potato crisps, which John scarfed down. The two made polite conversation, but John could tell that Mrs. Hudson knew what was coming for him soon, and the untouched subject sat heavy between them. John was at least grateful that she was making an effort to pretend she didn’t know, and trying to take his mind off of it for a few minutes

That evening, he finally finished his book; the ending was disappointing and left way too many loose ends for John’s taste. After he set down the novel with a sigh, John realized he had nothing else to do. This was his last book until he was able to order another from the Library. Usually when he was bored he went and found Sherlock, but that wasn’t really an option this time. John didn’t think he could face him, knowing what the two of them would be doing the next day. 

John went to bed early, and after lying awake thinking about the next day he eventually fell into a deep sleep. When John woke up the sun was streaming through the blinds of his windows. There was a plate of food on the table next to him. Finding food waiting for him seemed to be turning into a common occurence, John noted. This time it was a plate of scorched scrambled eggs covered in ketchup. For a moment John was confused, because Cook had never burnt a meal before, and no one knew he liked ketchup on his eggs besides Sherlock. Then when John saw the medical textbook lying next to the plate, he understood. 

Sherlock must have made him the eggs. And of course he would have realized that John had finished his last book, so he brought him one of his own. With a smile, John realized it was the same textbook he’d been looking through a few weeks ago in the shed-turned-laboratory. Sherlock was engrossed studying something or other through his microscope, and John had picked up the medical textbook that was lying around. He didn’t get very far into it, but it was interesting. As soon as Sherlock finished John put down the book and followed him outside, without a second thought of the book. John hadn’t realized that Sherlock even noticed what he was reading. 

With a smile, John picked up the plate and forced himself to eat the rubbery blackened eggs. The ketchup did help a lot with covering up the taste. When he had eaten all that he could, he opened up the medical book and dove in with interest. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t concentrate. 

Each sentence he read reminded him that Sherlock had brought him this book, that Sherlock had noticed him reading it in the first place, and that he had remembered it for all this time. Thinking about Sherlock brought up a whole tangled mess of feelings that John had neither the time nor the courage to even begin to figure out. He shut the book with a sigh. There must be something that could distract him from Sherlock. But it seemed everything in the whole house had a connection to Sherlock, or a memory.

Eventually John just decided to grab a snack from the kitchen and watch some tv. There was an empty servants’ room downstairs from his own room, and John had unofficially claimed it as his own. When the Holmes’ had gotten a new tv a year or so ago, John had taken the old one and put it in that room, as well as a couch they were getting rid of and a table with a wobbly leg. He’d propped up the leg with a few newspapers and it was good as new. 

John sank into the tattered red couch with a groan, careful not to spill his bowl of popcorn. He flipped around the channels aimlessly, not looking for a good show but rather an adequate distraction from the anxious thoughts pinging around in his skull. Nothing exciting was on tv, so he settled on a reality show about weird addictions. He watched for over four hours; the show was having some kind of marathon. It almost but not quite allowed him to forget the fear coiling in his abdomen, ever tighter as the hour drew closer. As it neared five o’clock, John realized he hadn’t been paying attention to the show for some time. He didn’t even know what the addiction of the newest guest was.

With a sigh, John turned off tv and wandered down to the kitchen. There he found Cook starting on dinner, chicken breast with prosciutto, pesto, and cheese. She was always nice to John; she fed him the scraps while she cooked and often piled extra cheese onto his helping. John only ate dinner with the Holmes if everyone was there. Often Mr. Holmes or Mycroft worked late and didn’t come to dinner, in which case John ate in the kitchen with the help. 

Thankfully, tonight Mr. Holmes was stuck at the office, so John ate at the cozy table with Cook, a new maid named Molly, and Mrs. Hudson. He was sure the three of them all knew what was going to happen that night; it was impossible to keep secrets from the help. They were polite enough not to bring it up, so the meal was spent asking about Mrs. Hudson’s various children and grandchildren, the topic of which she could go on for hours.

John didn’t pay attention as much as he should have. His eyes kept glancing to the clock, ticking ever closer to the dreaded moment. When the meal was over, John helped the cook wash the dishes, then he wandered back to his room. He supposed Mycroft, or rather Sherlock, would send for him soon. It was seven, and usually if he was summoned it was around seven thirty or eight. After all, one would want to digest before any sort of physical activity. 

John fretted about what to wear. He was currently in a loose grey sweater and old jeans, which normally wouldn’t be a problem. He’d take it all off as soon as he got there, so he never bothered to dress up for his visits. But this was his first time with Sherlock, it would be different. He felt he should look nice this one time, but he also didn’t want to act like this was anything less than a normal session. In the end, he combed his hair and put on a slightly nicer pair of jeans, but kept the sweater. It was almost seven thirty now. Mrs. Hudson would knock on his door any minute.

John perched on his bed, facing the door. He bounced his right leg up and down, then stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He stared out the tiny window at the vast grounds of the estate, glowing in the soft moonlight. He walked back to his desk and picked up a pencil, tried twirling it between his fingers. After a few tries he gave up and started going through his drawers, looking for something to do. 

There wasn’t much in his drawers, at least nothing personal. He hadn’t been allowed to bring anything from home when he moved here, and it wasn’t like the Holmes ever gave him presents or anything. He didn’t even go to school. After all, what was the point in educating an omega when they were only going to live their life as a rich alpha’s fucktoy. No one wanted an educated omega, because then they might not be content with their submissive life. No, it was far better for omegas to quit school once they were sold.

Just as John closed his last drawer, there was a quiet knock on the door. John froze. 

“John, dear?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice called through the door. John’s body turned to lead and sank into the floor.

“Come in,” John said, his eyes glued to the door.

Mrs. Hudson walked into the room and gave John a small smile. “Honey, it’s time.” She said gently. “And he would like you to please go to young master Holmes’ room this time.” Oh god. That hadn’t even occurred to John, that it would have to be in Sherlock’s room. He supposed it made sense. After all, when Mycroft moved out, that was where it would be every time, so they might as well get used to it now. 

Somehow John managed to smile, though it probably came out closer to a grimace. “Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” he said in a flat voice. She looked at him for a long moment, sighed, then left the room. John took one last glance around; by the time he returned his life would be completely different. He followed Mrs. Hudson out the door. 

John stood in front of Sherlock’s room, trying to steel himself to knock. Before he could even raise his hand the door opened, revealing Mycroft in the entrance. Sherlock stood behind Mycroft in the middle of the room. His eyes were fixed on his fingernails that he was studiously picking at, occasionally glancing at the ground, but never at John. 

“Welcome, John” Mycroft said, with a sinister smile. No matter what the situation, John had never seen Mycroft smile for real. It was always a placating smile or a sarcastic smile or a condescending smile. It was fucking creepy. 

John walked into the room, but stayed near the doorway. His eyes kept flickering towards Sherlock, but after their eyes met once, Sherlock simply became more engrossed in his nails. 

“No need to be shy, Sherlock” Mycroft scolded. “What on earth is there to be nervous about? It’s not like there’s a chance John will reject you.” Sherlock glared at Mycroft, but made no response. “Go on, Sherlock. This can’t work if you stay five feet away the whole time.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock moved forwards until he was standing in front of John. John looked into his eyes and saw terror. Huh. John knew why he was so scared, but as Mycroft had said, there was no reason for John to be. 

Just then, Mycroft’s phone rang. Mycroft’s eyes widened as he looked at the caller ID. “Sherlock, you will have to continue without my instructions. I have to take this call. Don’t disappoint me.” And with that, Mycroft hurried out of the room. John could hear him talking in a hushed voice as he strode down the hallway, probably off to his study. 

John looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock was still staring at him. “Well, shall we get on with it?” John asked, attempting a smile. 

“John,” Sherlock said softly. “I don’t want to-- I never want to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Of all the things Sherlock could have said, that was the last thing possible John could have imagined happening. “Um…” John stalled, unable to think of a response. 

“John, we may very well end up spending the rest of our lives together. And I see the way you look at Mycroft, how much you hate him. I don’t want you to hate me, John. I want you to always be happy, because I-- well just because.” Sherlock said al in a rush. He stared just to the left of John when he finished. His face was bright red. 

“Because you what, Sherlock?” John asked, though he knew what Sherlock was going to say.

“Um.” Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well, because I love you. And I know you don’t love me and that’s okay I don’t expect you to, but I still want you to be happy, and maybe, maybe we could be friends.” After he finished, he looked back at John, waiting apprehensively. 

“Sherlock, I think I love you too” John said, and in that moment, he knew it was true. He knew that was what he’d been hiding from, what he’d refused to think about. But now it seemed so obvious. Of course he loved Sherlock. He’d loved him for a very long time. 

Relief shone on Sherlock’s face. “You do?” He asked, beaming. “Really?”

“Of course I do.” John reassured him. Sherlock strode forward and wrapped John in a hug. John lifted Sherlock’s face up with his hands, and looked deep into his eyes. Sherlock’s eyes flicked between John’s eyes and his lips. He leaned in, and John closed his eyes. Their lips met, and John realized he was experiencing his first kiss. Sherlock’s lips were soft, and gave in to John’s. It was a sweet kiss, chaste. After only a few seconds they pulled away. Sherlock was grinning widely, and John could feel that he was too. 

Sherlock was the first to break the silence. “So, what now?” He asked.

“No offense, but I don’t really want to- you know,” John nodded nodded vaguely at the bed, and Sherlock understood.

“No, of course not. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Sherlock reassured John. “So then, I guess you want to go back to your room?”

“Well, I was kinda hoping I could stay here for a little bit…” 

Sherlock positively beamed. He nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes of course you can.” He said, and reached out for John’s hand. John slid his fingers between Sherlock’s and they stood like that for a minute, stupidly grinning at each other with their held hand swinging back and forth. 

Mycroft never returned that night. It must have been an important call. John and Sherlock stayed up late, sitting criss-cross on Sherlock’s bed, holding each other’s hands and talking well into the night. When Sherlock could no longer keep his eyes open, John turned off the light and the two slid into bed. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock, who was curled into him, resting his head on his chest. John watched Sherlock as he fell asleep and traced swirls through his hair. Eventually, he too drifted off.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here concludes my story. I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you guys liked it as well!

As it turns out, the phone call that Mycroft got that night was a matter of national security or something equally confidential. By the time John and Sherlock woke up the next morning, Mycroft had rushed into the office and decided that now was as good a time as any to move into his London address. Mrs. Hudson shipped his belongings to him; apparently whatever it was was so important Mycroft couldn’t step away for some time. And once he was located in the city, work seemed to consume his life even more. 

He hardly ever visited the Holmes’ manor, except for holidays. Whenever Mycroft did make one of his rare appearances, Sherlock would keep John occupied and away from Mycroft until he left. Sherlock was no happier to see his brother than John was, after everything Mycroft had done to Sherlock’s boyfriend.

And they were boyfriends. In the excitement of confessing their feelings for each other, John and Sherlock had forgotten to discus what would come next. And of course, a week later when it came up after Sherlock accidentally called John his boyfriend, that matter was happily resolved. The two shyly began to navigate their new relationship. It wasn’t really much different than before, except there was more hand holding, and whenever Sherlock got excited his first reaction became to kiss John passionately instead of run off and forget to tell John where he was going. The laboratory shed in the backyard became their favorite makeout spot.

A year later, Sherlock solved a crime he saw on the news just by watching the people interviewed by the journalist. He called the tip in to a thoroughly impressed sergeant Lestrade, and after two more similar occurrences, Lestrade officially asked him to unofficially help him out with cases. Sherlock became a perennial appearance at all the crime scenes, and everyone on the team got used to having a gangly arrogant teen hanging around with his sidekick. Because of course, wherever Sherlock went, John went too. 

 

Sherlock bugged his parents until they got John a private tutor, who not only got him through the high school curriculum, but gave John extra lessons in anatomy and biology. John was beginning to dream of becoming a doctor, though of course he knew his situation and would never voice those impossible dreams aloud. Obviously, Sherlock knew anyways, but he was kind enough to pretend he didn’t. 

 

For three years life went along happily, with Sherlock solving crimes and John learning anatomy, and the two of them almost never being apart. Until Sherlock was seventeen and looking at universities, and John realized he had no idea what would happen to him when Sherlock left. Omegas obviously did not go to uni. Would he stay behind in the Holmes manor, so that Sherlock could visit him on holidays? Or would the Holmes family find some other use for him in the time being? 

All of John’s worry turned out to be for naught. Sherlock got accepted to Imperial, and John pretended to be happy for him while dying on the inside. Then, two days later Sherlock burst into John’s room holding a fat envelope. It was addressed to Mr. John H Watson, and the return address was Barts and the London School of Medicine and Dentistry. 

Without John’s knowledge, Sherlock had applied to Barts in John’s name- and he got in! Sherlock had pestered the dean until he broke down and allowed an Omega to enroll, on the condition that he be kept on scent masking pills during his enrollment. John agreed happily, and the next fall he and Sherlock bought a flat together in London, equidistant from Barts and Imperial. 

Their new flat was an adorable place next door to a cafe, 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Holmes was worried about Sherlock living on his own, so Mrs. Hudson would be moving into the flat downstairs to keep an eye on them.

John and Sherlock got to their new home a few days before school started to settle in. Their first night in the flat was the first time they had sex. 

For a long while after they started dating, neither of them were ready for it, and even after they wanted to, John admitted to Sherlock that if he had sex with Sherlock, it would feel like he were just being used. Though of course John wanted to wholeheartedly and he knew Sherlock loved him, knowing that they were doing what John had been bought to do turned him off of the idea. Sherlock agreed it felt weird, so they’d waited. But now they were out from under the Holmes’ roof, and John no longer felt like a pet or a possession. He could fuck Sherlock if he wanted and it would never be just because he had to.

They hadn’t planned it per say, but Sherlock had bought some condoms on their way to the flat, just in case. Then, when they walked in the door and fully realized that all of it belonged to just the two of them, Sherlock was glad he’d come prepared.

After peeking in all the rooms and checking to make sure the stove and fridge were in working order, John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him back to the living room. 

“What are you up to?” Sherlock asked, following John. John smiled and wiggled his eyebrows but made no response. He backed himself up against the wall next to the door and grabbed Sherlock’s collar, drawing him in for a kiss.

They kissed for a long while, content in the give and take of one pair of lips against the other, the tongues sliding in and out and licking lips and tracing teeth, and biting and sucking on lower lips. John’s hands twined in Sherlock’s curls while Sherlock braced his hands against the door, framing John’s head. 

As they kept going the kissing grew more intense and desperate. Sherlock would leave John’s mouth to kiss trails down John’s neck only to have John interrupt and start sucking at his ear. Sherlock grabbed John under his arse and hoisted him up, so that John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock pressed his body against the door for balance and slipped his hands underneath John’s waistband to grab at his arse. 

Eventually they made their way over to the couch, with Sherlock still carrying John wrapped around his waist. He dumped John down on the couch and John pulled Sherlock on top of him to resume the kissing. Sherlock ground against John and John arched up to press himself against Sherlock’s bulge, now straining at his jeans. John made quick work of those jeans, pulling them down to Sherlock’s knees to free his tented cock. He ran his hands up and down the shaft and Sherlock groaned obscenely, leaning into the pressure. John paused and looked up at Sherlock. 

“Sherlock,” he whispered, “I want you inside of me.” Oh god. Sherlock realized in that moment he had been waiting his entire life to hear John say those words. 

“I want this too,” he responded, and pulled John into a deep kiss. He pulled off John’s jeans and pants and dug a condom out of his jacket pocket. “Are you wet for me?” Sherlock asked in a voice rough with arousal. He ripped open the packet and slid the condom onto his cock, red and straining against his stomach with lust.

“You tell me,” John said. Sherlock smiled and reached his left hand around, between John’s legs. He could feel the lubricant leaking down John’s thigh, and when he nudged his finger into John’s hole, more liquid gushed out. Sherlock dug his finger in and curled it, causing John to gasp and arch his back. 

He slid in a second finger and massaged them around, then gradually added a third. “God, Sherlock, more!” panted John. Sherlock grabbed John’s cock and lined it up against his own. He wrapped one hand around both of them and moved in time with the hand inside of John. Now both of them were moaning obscenely. and John was rutting against Sherlock desperately. 

“I need you inside of me,” John groaned. Sherlock let go of their cocks and slid his hand out of John, then licked each finger individually as he stared at John. 

“You sure you’re stretched open enough?” Sherlock asked after he licked off his last finger. John nodded emphatically and Sherlock drew him into a kiss, John’s scent mingling between their tongues. After a few seconds they drew apart. The two switched positions so that Sherlock was underneath and John sat on top of him.

John lifted himself up with his knees and grabbed Sherlock’s cock so that it was positioned under him. He angled himself and sank down onto it, then sat still for a few moments giving himself time to adjust to the sudden girth that filled him up so hotly and thickly. 

Sherlock grabbed onto John’s hips and John slowly started to draw his hips forwards and rock them back. Each time he picked up speed until he was snapping his hips roughly with each move. Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s length so that each thrust brought his cock relief as well as his arse. He rode Sherlock like that for awhile, until his movements weren’t forceful enough for his own desperate need. 

Sherlock lifted himself up and flipped around, drawing John underneath him until their positions were once again as they had started out. Sherlock grabbed two pillows and stuffed them under John’s hips, then leaned over him to brace his hands against the armrest of the chair. Using that leverage he began to thrust into John with the speed and force that couldn’t be achieved from their previous position. Sherlock slammed into John, faster and faster, until any semblance of rhythm was lost and both were incoherently panting and moaning. 

With one final thrust, Sherlock shouted out John’s name and came. Seconds later, John followed. He let the waves of white hot pleasure roll over him and fill his body with the exquisite sensation. His vision blacked out and faintly, he was aware of shouting out Sherlock’s name accompanied by several expletives. He spurted all over Sherlock’s chest, not that Sherlock noticed since he was experiencing a rapture of his own.

When they came back to their senses, Sherlock tenderly pulled out of John and slid off the condom. He tied it into a knot and threw it over his shoulder, then collapsed on top of John. He lay with his head on top of John’s chest while John stroked patterns through his hair, until both of their heart rates slowed to normal.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked up at John, grinning devilishly. “You know, I think I’m gonna like this apartment.”

“Gosh, can’t imagine why,” John retorted, smiling back at Sherlock. “It got your boyfriend into bed with you.”

“Well technically, into couch with me,” Sherlock pointed out. “No, really though. I’m going to enjoy living here, going to college. Being with you.”

John had to agree. When he was twelve years old and sold to the Holmes family, he never would have imagined that he could be this happy. And yet here he was. “Yeah, I guess I like it here too.”


End file.
